


Grown-Up

by fascra



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:33:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24801646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fascra/pseuds/fascra
Summary: Sammy is in the fifth-grade when his teacher suggests that maybe he go by Sam.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 51





	Grown-Up

Quiz Bowl meetings are, as Sammy suspected, awesome. He and Mr. Bensman and a couple of kids from the other fifth-grade classes all sit together at lunchtime and quiz each other on the weirdest fun facts they can come up with. He thinks it’s maybe the quickest he’s ever made friends--and they are friends, they even hang out at recess, minus Mr. Bensman--and even better, he’s good at it. So good Mr. Bensman says they might even win at the county bowl this year, and even though Sammy knows he’ll probably have left town by that time, he glows every time he hears it. 

And so when Mr. Bensman pulls up beside him on the long walk home, Sammy doesn’t hesitate to climb in when he offers.

“You are one brave soul, walking all this way home in the cold,” his teacher says after Sammy buckles his passenger side seatbelt, yanking off his hole-ridden mittens and holding them up before the heaters. “I don’t think I could do it.”

“‘S not so bad,” Sammy says, even though it kind of is. “Thanks for the ride, though!”

“No problem, Sammy, no problem at all,” Mr. Bensman says. “Or can I call you Sam? I always thought you were a little too mature for Sammy. You don’t have as much growing up to do as some of your classmates.”

“Like Davie?” Sammy says, thinking of the kid next to him who's always scratching his armpit like a monkey and hooting when the girls talk.

Mr. Bensman laughs. “Now, come on, you know I can’t name names.”

“That means you do mean Davie!” Sammy says gleefully. “‘Cause otherwise, you would’ve had to say no.”

Mr. Bensman gives him a fond look out of the corner of his eye. “You’re a smart kid, Sam.”

“Yeah,” says Sammy, and Mr. Bensman laughs again, and ruffles his hair. Normally he only lets Dean do that, but he doesn’t pull away, not even when Mr. Bensman’s hand falls down to rest on his neck. It feels good, like proof Mr. Bensman likes him more than the other kids, likes him best. “Do you really think I’m too old to go by Sammy?”

“You can go by whatever you want.”

“I know that,” he says. “But do you think Sam sounds cooler?”

Mr. Bensman looks at him, smiles, turns onto his street. Sammy wonders, vaguely, how he knows where to go. “I think Sammy is probably what your dad’s always called you, huh?”

“Yeah?”

“And I think Sam sounds a little more like a grown-up name. Like a name you chose all for yourself.” They pull up slowly in front of the old trailer, and Sammy tries to think of what it’d be like to be all by himself. Except when he’s at school, he’s never alone. He’s in the backseat of the car listening to Dad’s music or curled up in the bed he still has to share with Dean or he’s practicing with one or both of them, aiming a gun or tossing a knife or letting his brother wrestle him into the earth, a big hand wrapped beneath his skull to keep him safe.

“I’ll think about it,” says Sammy, and he clambers out of the car.

***

Dean gets home from the high school an hour later, throws his backpack across the room and messes up Sammy’s hair on his way to the kitchen. He squirms away, falling backward on the couch, and Dean laughs.

“How was school?” His brother says, grabbing two protein bars from the duffle they’re calling their pantry and tossing one at Sammy’s head.

To his delight, he catches it with one hand. “Fine,” he says and grins. “Did you see that catch?”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a real Barry Bonds,” Dean says, but he’s smiling so Sammy knows he’s pretty proud anyway. “Budge up, will you?”

Sammy scoots and lets his brother toss an arm around his shoulder. “What’re we watching?” he says, watching Dean turn on the T.V. and start flicking through.

“The real question is what were you watching, huh? You just sitting here watching a black screen ‘til I get home? I gotta say, man, I know you miss me, but it might be about time you get a hobby.”

Sammy jabs him between the ribs in return. “I was thinking, jerk. You might not’ve heard of it, but some of us--”

“Who just lays around thinking in the middle of the day?” Dean says, settling on a Gunsmoke rerun.

“Smart people?”

“Geek,” Dean says, rolling his eyes and yanking him closer. “You’re lucky I’m around to show you a cooler way of life Like that,” he jabs a finger at the T.V. as Amanda Blake walks on screen. 

“See that, Sammy? Any woman that looks like that, that’s cool.”

He squints at the T.V. “So you’re sayin’ I’d be cooler if I was a girl?”

But the phone goes off before Dean can get a comeback, and his brother is up off the couch rummaging in his book bag before a single ring ends.

He hopes it’s Pastor Jim, maybe inviting them for Christmas or something, but Dean answers with a single, earnest, “Dad!”, and Sammy gets off the couch and heads into the bedroom he shares with Dean. He hates listening to one side of their phone calls, especially since it’s never Dean who says anything important, always just Yessir’s and No sir’s. And Dean’ll never put Dad on speakerphone. Whatever Dad has to say, Sammy’ll hear it through Dean.

The walls of the trailer are thin, but even after the murmur of Dean’s voice dies away, he doesn’t come in. That’s how he knows it’ll be something bad. 

When Dean comes in, Sammy’s curled up on his side, watching the syrupy, late-afternoon orange light paint his fingers. He uses his other hands to cover with shadow and then uncover them, creating a small rhythm in the light.

“It’s Dad,” Dean says. “Says there’s a haunting across the state, he saw the signs in the paper, but he’s not gonna be able to make it back. He and Uncle Bobby are still on that demon’s trail.” Dean hesitates, walking closer, resting a hand on Sammy’s back. “You and I are gonna have to go get down there tonight, kiddo. Dad already thinks he knows who, we just gotta burn the bones. Should be back by Monday, Tuesday latest.”

Sammy blinks, then sits up, throwing off his hand and staring at his brother. “You and I can’t face a ghost alone.”

“Well,” Dean says. “I mean, you’re not coming. Not on the hunt bit, anyway.”

“What?”

“It’s a salt and burn, Sammy. I can take it alone, and I sure as hell am not dragging you in without Dad to help me watch your back. Hell, I’d leave you here if you wouldn’t be alone.”

Sammy is so mad that, for a second, he thinks he’s gonna hit his brother, really hit him, not like a tussle but like the punches their dad trains them for. “I’m not useless!”

“Didn’t say you were. But you’re eleven, man, and I’m almost sixteen. Bit of a difference there. Look, I knew you weren’t gonna like this, but it’ll be easy, I promise, over-and-done. Huh? And then we’ll race back by school on Monday, maybe even grab some of that fast food Asian stuff you like.”

“If you think food can make this better,” Sammy snarls, “you really are stupid.” He throws himself back into bed, pulls the comforter over his head and tries not to think about his stupid brave big brother in a graveyard alone.

He can feel Dean still standing above him, but he squeezes his eyes shut tight and pretends not to notice. The room is quiet besides the two of them breathing, just like so many nights in so many different rooms across the country, and suddenly Sammy wishes he could just get back in Mr. Bensman’s car and make him keep driving, make him drop Sammy off somewhere far away where he could be alone and figure out who he’s meant to be. He wouldn’t feel so small, he thinks, if he wasn’t always next to Dean. He knows it's an awful, mean thought, that Dean works on weekends and steals things from Dollar Generals and stands up to Dad just for him all the time. That Dean gives up everything for him. But that doesn’t make it any better. “It’ll look better when it’s over, Sammy,” Dean says, and his voice sounds all old and tired, like taking care of his brother has worn him all out.

“It’s Sam,” he tells him, and climbs out of bed without looking at his brother.

**Author's Note:**

> Season Five, Swan Song:
> 
> SAM: I don't want anything from you.
> 
> LUCIFER: Really? Not even a little payback?
> 
> SAM: What's that supposed to mean?
> 
> LUCIFER: Look closely. None of these little devils look familiar to you?
> 
> SAM: That's Mr. Bensman... One of my grade-school teachers.


End file.
